


without you it's really hard to breathe.

by nopehes (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Break Up, Broken Harry, Depression, M/M, Sad, Sad Harry, Suicide, Trust, broken trust, dealing with depression, larry - Freeform, lourry, suicidal, trigger warning, upsetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:50:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2677958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nopehes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The AU in which H&L have broken up and Harry just can't take it anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	without you it's really hard to breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> major trigger warning. mentions of suicide and upsetting/graphic depictions of self-harm. major trigger warning. read at own risk.

****

 

**He loved him with his long hair, so Harry cut it all off.**

Harry's fingers shook with anxiety as he scrambled through drawer after drawer in the kitchen for the scissors. Tears soaked his cheeks and sleeves as he wiped them away quickly. Blurry vision was not aiding in his search for scissors in the dark at three in the morning. The only light in the entire flat came through the windows in the form of crisp, white moonlight which painted everything in a pale blue color. As sobs choked their way past Harry's lips and utensils and cooking supplies were tossed from side to side the entire world seemed to take in a deep breath, watching with sympathy as Harry tried to remain somewhat in control of his actions. He fought to remain conscious and aware of his surroundings but it was hard. All he saw was a blurry, vague map of the world around him, and all he could feel was the deep ache that took up every available space inside his chest. 

Something clacked to the floor and he was vaguely aware of what it was. A kitchen knife, perhaps, or maybe even a pepper shaker. He didn't know, nor did he care. He couldn't find the god damn scissors. 

This was all Louis' fault. Louis didn't have to leave. He didn't have to disappear from Harry's world just as un-ceremoniously and as quickly as he'd arrived. The silence was loud, defeaning, and Harry didn't know how to handle it. At night Louis danced behind his eyelids, taunting him with broken promises and half-hearted words which were laced with unfulfilled wishes and dreams which will never come true. 

Vacations in the Camen Islands, puppies, weddings -- _children_. For four years Harry had given his heart and soul to a boy he'd met at a concert and fallen head over heels for. He'd given everything to a man who had ripped from his world every color and soud and feeling. He no longer registered pain unless it was intentionally inflicted. He no longer saw the world in anything but grayscale. Music no longer comforted him; the piano sat in the living room, unused. The notebook Louis had left sat, unopened, awaiting the time when another note would be scribbled down next to the half finished piece its owner had left behind. 

In the back of his mind, Harry knew what those notes are. He knew what the scribbled handwriting says. The ink may be faded and the keys may be covered with dust, but he knew the words as if he'd written them himself. They promised a future with the one who had liften him up above the clouds only to pull their arms back as soon as Harry started to fall. They promise something bigger than the two of them. A forever after. Something great. 

Sometimes, to Harry, it seemed as if that was too much to ask for. 

Nothing. The scissors were nowhere to be found. He gripped the last drawer by the handle and yanked, pulling the thing clear out of the cabinetry it was attached too. As he pulled he let out a gutteral sound which was something between a pained scream and a helpless cry for his lost lover to come back to him and stop all of the pain. 

It was paradoxical, what he was feeling. His insides hurt and his heart seemed to ooze this black tar which spread throughout his body like poison, shutting down even the smallest of organs, short-circuiting even the simplest of nerves. His blood ran cold in his veins like ice. His chest was empty yet heavy at the same time, like there was a heavy shell made of cement with nothing but air inside incasing his chest cavity. His ribs were brittle to the touch but refused to crack or break no matter how many times he pushed and scratched at the surface of his skin. 

Yet, despite all the pain he still felt nothing at the same time. He searched for ways to feel something -- anything. He craved the burn from the lighter Louis left behind. Instead of igniting his lover's cigarettes the flames licked at Harry's skin and made it come alight. The pale skin puckered pink in places, which Harry would watch fade away over a number of days just as he'd watched Louis slowly fade from his life and finally slip away completely.

A hazy daydream in which the nights and days blended together in a never ending expanse of time is what Harry's life had become. He didn't know how long it had been since Louis left. Perhaps it had been months or years. It could have been days or hours, Harry didn't know. He no longer cared. He watched the clock on the wall in the living room tick the time away until the battery died and he felt no need to go and get a new battery. He stood up on the rock ledge in front of the fire place and set the clock to a time he always waited for. 

11:11

Time was frozen in that moment; the moment he constantly used to wish for his lover to return to him. He pleaded with Fate, Destiny, God -- whoever was in control of the worthless thing that had become his life. He spent hours at night wailing at the wall, mumbling promises of a better attitude and change of heart if only the world would give him his love back. 

Using the wall and railing for support, Harry pulled himself up the stairs toward the bathroom at the top of the landing. Whimpers and cries fell on smashed picture frames and plaster, broken by Harry's drunken fists. Stumbling through the door Harry nearly fell straight into the bathtub. He caught himself on the towel rack and immediately began to chuckle. It was the kind of chuckle that rattles every bone in your body. It sounded maniacal and evil, and it was absolutely terrifying. 

Harry turned and saw, for a brief moment, his reflction. The crazed laughter stopped as his gaze fell upon the original reason for his trip downstairs. He'd heard Louis' voice, felt the soft fingers in his hair. Nails had softly grazed his scalp and he'd felt Louis' breath on his neck. 

"I absolutely love your hair long, H," he'd said, a soft smile ghosting on his lips. Harry could feel the imprint of Louis' smile on his skin. It burnt like the flames from the lighter and made him pull his hand back, fingers bunched in a fist. Moments later glass shattered. Shards flew through the air and Harry's reflection vanished from view. 

Louis was gone. His love was gone. His voice, his laugh, his touch -- it was all a distant memory. He had to be purged from Harry's life just as Harry had been purged from his. If Louis loved his long hair, then long hair he would have no longer. 

Calmly, Harry opened the second drawer to the left of the sink. He pulled out the pair of scissors that had been left behind by Lou, a friend who dabbled with hairstyling. She'd cut Louis' hair in that bathroom while Harry stood in the doorway and watched with a fond expression on his face. He gripped the scissors tightly in his hands, lifted the blades to his hair, and snipped. 

As the fist strands of hair fell to the counter and floor, something clicked in Harry's mind. Rather, something became unhinged. His last grasp on reality -- on sanity -- was lost, and he screamed out in rage as he grabbed another section of hair and cut it all off. He grabbed section after section and cut, not caring about simple things like length and how it looked and what exactly he was doing. He felt powerful. Anger replaced the empty feeling that had taken up residence in his chest and he welcomed the change of emotion. He let red replace black and he forgot who he was. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When he came to, he was shaking violently and standing in the bathroom. Hair surrounded him like a fluffy brown cloud, and the scissors were covered with red. He dropped them into the sink as his gaze fell to his fingers. Cuts dotted his fingers and hands. More than once he'd missed his hair and gone straight for his own skin, but he didn't remember. He didn't feel the pain, either. If he had he would have stopped. 

Shaky breaths tried to fill his lungs with air but the room was void of oxygen. He felt helpless, lost, and confused. He couldn't see his reflection anymore, as the mirror is shattered and his knuckles are bloody from breaking through the glass, but he knew that his hair was beyond salvation. His long curls were gone, just like Louis was. 

Emptiness slowly reclaimed every fiber of his being. A numbness started in his toes and worked its way upward toward his legs and abdomen. Eventually it reached his chest where it settled deep in his heart, making it feel heavy and cold. The sweat on his back turned cold beneath his white t-shirt, and he felt suffocated by it. 

The water from the shower was cold but Harry didn't care. He stood there beneath the shower head, fully clothed, and let the icy water wash away all the left over strands of hair on his clothes and blood on his fingers and hands. His skin prickles with goosebumps and his muscles start to shiver in protest. He didn't care. He welcomed it. He welcomed the cold and icy water. He finally felt the same way on the outisde as he did on the outside. 

Stepping onto the bathmat, he shook out his hair. Force of habit. Droplets flew left and right, some mixing with blood and dripping down the counter or toilet or wall in light pink streaks. He steps forward and hears a scraping noise. Looking down, he sees his reflection in a broken shard of glass. 

Pale skin is pulled tight over prominent cheek bones. Dark purple bags pull down his eyes which have lost all (if not most) of their color. His hair is uneven, choppy, and completely ruined. Louis would never love him now. He's hideous -- ugly. Louis searched for the beautiful things in life, and Harry is no longer beautiful, figuratively or literally. Louis' lips would turn up in disgust at his first look at him. He'd turn right back around and walk the other way if he ever decided to step back into Harry's life. 

A gut-wrenching feeling took place deep in his body. Harry felt completely and utterly defeated, destroyed, and dissatisfied with life. He wanted out. He wanted to get away. He wanted this feeling of worthlessnes to stop. 

So, he reached into the medicine cabinet and removed the syringe that had arrived in the mail some time prior. It was horse tranquilizer; a lethal amount. Enough to kill a large stallion, if the man on the internet hadn't lied to him. Harry turned it over in his hands, feeling a sense of calm he hadn't felt in years. 

He put the needle to his vein, and pushed down. The rest came easy, just as smoothly as Louis had walked away.

 

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> the ending is complete shit, and i'm sorry about that. i'm terrible at endings.


End file.
